Better Than A Crossfire
by Lola Fairweather
Summary: Michonne returns to her small college town at her professor's request for a chance to work under her brilliant mentor. Her days are spent engaging with the members of the town, including a notorious set of hunky local fisherman. One in particular she can't seem to imprint in her mind. Along with his everyday coffee order. Post Grad Michonne and Fisherman Rick. AU No ZA.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: So, I wouldn't think of myself as a seasonal person but here we are with another season inspired story. Thank you in advance for checking this out and drop a review to let me know what you think!**

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Michonne's pencil scratched aimlessly along the sides of the fine paper that housed the crossword puzzle she was half heartedly attempting. She hated the New York Times puzzle but she had forgotten her copy of "Freshwater" so in lieu of reading she was racking her brain over this seemingly impossible answer. Down: 12 letter word for 'to throw something out of a window'. She glanced at her iPhone briefly and sighed. The art of crossword puzzles were truly lost with the advent of smartphones. It was all too tempting to pick up her phone and thumb through an online dictionary.

"Defenestrate" she muttered aloud. Her hand moved fast and sure, scribbling out the answer in a messy loopy scrawl as she smiled to herself. Which then quickly faded as she noticed her triumphant answer didn't coincide with Across: 8 letter word for "sea blue".

Michonne chucked her pen a few inches away from her and stuffed her chin into her upturned palm. She figured she might as well settle for watching the passersby in the large windows of the cafe. It was the second week of October and the autumn chill had begun to settle in nicely. Michonne drew her grey cardigan closer around her chest, hoping to fight off the sharp breeze that seemed to slip through the thin space beneath the main door. She'd spoken to Jessie Anderson, the spacy owner of the Two Owls Cafe, about maybe turning the heat up a little earlier this year. Instead Jessie had scoffed at her in that annoyingly arrogant way, batting her thickly coated black lashes telling Michonne not to worry about it and layer up. Michonne had also wanted to offer up her own two cents about the dangers of bottled yellow blondes and black mascara. However she figured Jessie's main goal in life was to resemble the winged creatures she'd adored and named her shop after. So day after day she kept her mouth shut about the rings of black soot that rimmed her lower lash ones that fell from her lashes and were rubbed into her eyes from irritation.

The sudden tick of the big hand hitting the twelve signaled her final hour, and another celebratory hoot from the gaudy Owl cuckoo clock that had a smaller owl spring from it's chest and chirp along in cheery unison. Michonne sighed while flicking some locs over her shoulder. She took a deep breath and reminding herself that this was a side grind. It paid well and was low energy seeing as how all the students opted to do school work at the other coffee shops in town. The ones without obnoxious owl decals and loud random hooting.

Her final hour also brought along a small burst of business. Mostly the deliveries from the local venues or guests coming in to warm up with a large coffee to go or whatever remained from the morning's baked goods haul. Michonne stood up straighter as her friend Rosita pushed through the heavy front door.

"Hey girl!" She waved, uncharacteristically in a good long dark hair was braided into two slightly frizzy French braids. Rosita's warm welcome offset the biting cold that entered the small shop along with her.

"You're in a good mood today." Michonne commented. She turned her back on her friend briefly to pack a small amount of grounded beans into the portafilter and hook it back up to the espresso machine.

"Yeah, I guess I am. No real explanation for that."

"Hmm. Could a certain red headed fisherman be the reason for that?" Michonne teased, she pushed a small white to go cup in front of Rosita and rested her forearms on top of the counter.

"Well, I did happen to run into him on my way here. But it'll take more than a few lines to get me in a good mood."

"Or maybe just a few mediocre ones." The pair laughed as Michonne took her debit card and swiped it along the top of the iPad.

"Listen, don't come for me. I know I said I was taking a break from men, especially those fisherman but a girl's gotta eat."

"Often and well I guess. I never would've pictured you a fan of the ginger. What are you guys about to get into?"

Rosita shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her cup, a soft smile threatening to break the firm lines of her lips.

"When I'm done canvassing, I'm going to head over to his boat for dinner."

"Have fun getting the smell of fish out of your clothes."

"Oh, loosen up Michonne. You're just jealous because you're missing out on getting dicked down by the beautiful men selling their goods around town."

"Girl, they are selling too much of their goods around here." Michonne took a wet cloth to the counter, giving the already clean surface an unneeded swipe.

"Anyway, when are you planning another open mic?"

Michonne sighed, contemplated her answer. She was currently landlocked with Jessie about organizing the next event. The current date she'd chosen was next Tuesday, but Jessie had been insistent on pushing it back a whole month.

"I want to do one next week but Jessie keeps talking about some date she has with this dreamy guy from on of the local venues. I think it's Rhymes or Grimes and Sons. She doesn't want to hand over the keys and let me close this place for once."

"Wait a minute, she finally wore him down?" Rosita shook her head and slammed the rest of her lukewarm espresso shot.

"Wore who down?"

"Grimes! She's been sniffing around him forever."

"Which one is Grimes?" Michonne saw a fair number of people breeze in and out of the Two Owls, many of them failed to stick in her memory.

"The scruffy one, with the long curly brown hair. Grey beard. He always comes in here after finishes up at Glenn's place."

"And I serve him?"

Rosita laughed, "Yeah, babe." She snuck a glance at her phone. "Alright, I have to run. Give me a call later maybe we can grab a drink."

Michonne nodded, giving Rosita a brief wave as she hurried out of the store. She rolled her eyes at the thought of her eagerly thirsty boss, blowing off the opportunity to make money at what she was sure to be another failed date. As of late, Michonne's efforts to curate a rich artistic community outside of her alma mater Bowdoin were effectively curtailed by Jessie's flighty nature. It had taken her three months to get the owner used to the idea, followed by two weeks of going back and forth. Then to finally giving in and holding three open mic events, followed by this current lull she was determined to break.

Deanna Monroe, her other employer and former creative writing professor, had been encouraging Michonne to put her English degree to use. After spending the majority of her morning fielding calls from the professor's students, other departments, arranging meetings and handling other scholarly business the pair would cozy up with a cup of tea and discuss current events and Michonne's prospective career in the arts. Deanna had been instrumental to stoking the creative flames of Michonne's rich imagination, encouraging her to reach out to the community and invite them to share their talents.

Now she was at a standstill, if she could get Jessie to at least let her borrow the keys to the store her event could proceed as usual. Michonne picked her phone up from the counter and proceeded to text her friend Tyresse about borrowing his sound equipment. She figured it was best to get the ball rolling now as opposed to leaving everything to the last moment.

Michonne pulled up Tyresse's contact just as the front door opened revealing another rush of crisp air and a new guest. Her lips formed their perfunctory smile as she set her phone down squared her body off to the person approaching the counter. Her eyes crinkled slightly as she took in the long chocolate strands of curls brushing red ears and dusting along the cream colored collar of a worn in suede jacket.

"Hi, what can I get you?" Michonne worked on autopilot preparing to take the man's order. His eyes danced with a small bit of mirth, he chuckled and scratched at wisps of hazelnut and cream hairs flirting on his jaw line.

"A large coffee, black." He drawled out in a thick southern accent. Michonne looked up again from the notepad she'd taken out to write down his order and grinned easily. She took note of his eyes and gasped out "Cerulean!"

His order soon forgotten she began jotting down her answer in the crossword puzzle she had all but given up on.

"Excuse me?" He remarked, tilting his head to the side watching her look her newspaper instead of preparing his drink.

"Sorry, your eyes gave me my answer for my crossword. Cerulean." Michonne dropped her pencil and turned to him once again. "What was it you wanted again?"

It was now Cerulean's chance to squint at her, "Large black coffee?"

"Coming right up!" Michonne said with a faux level of exuberance. She was going to really have to turn on the charm if she didn't want him complaining to Jessie. Quickly selecting a large to go cup (he didn't appear to be the type to want one of those large porcelain mugs) Michonne filled the contents of the cup with the popular French roast brew leaving more than enough room for milk. She served the cup with small wisp of steam billowing from the lid along with her practiced service smile.

This was now turning into the longest most awkward interaction Michonne had had all day as she watched the man stare down into the cup with an irritated expression.

"You really don't remember me?" He asked, his eyes deserted it's game of chicken with the coffee. "I come in here every other day, ask for a large black coffee. You leave me room for milk and I tell you 'It's not needed'. Then you fill it up hand me my cup back and send me on my way."

Michonne was at a loss for words as her cheeks heated up flooding her face with the all too familiar warmth of embarrassment. She had never been described as absent minded before but to be fair she always tended to check out mentally the last hour of her shift.

"I'm so sorry. Can I offer you a-"

"Biscotti on the house? I'll pass...again." He reached out for her hand grasping it while he pressed a few bills into it then turned to leave. His duck boots pounded out a hasty retreat as he left the cafe without a further word.

"Dick." Michonne muttered, she shook her head and picked up her phone. The interaction was already forgotten as she resumed her text to Tyresse.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and followed! Here's another chapter to check out.**

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"Thanks for coming!" Michonne offered to one of the many audience members as she stood off to the side. Some were making their way out of the shop while others remained for the final performer. The open mic had been another roaring success. After managing to persuade Jessie to hand over her well guarded keys Michonne moved full throttle in preparations for the event. Securing Tyresse's sound system was easy enough, cajoling Carol into donating some sweet and savory baked goods took a little more effort but she came through as always. She'd purchased a few soft drinks with her own money so they were all set on that front of refreshments. All that was left was the talent and entertainment.

A strong knot of anticipation and doubt always bubbled in her belly whenever the doors opened and people started to trickle in slowly. Would there be enough audience members? Would there be enough people shedding their stage fright to take the mic and share a page of prose, a few acoustic notes, some spoken word perhaps? Her fears were alleviated because tonight, it all came together beautifully. They were just getting ready to wrap up with one more name that was left written on the bottom of the list: Eugene Porter.

Michonne wasn't too sure what talents the town's self taught scientist weirdo had in store (she had browsed the list running quickly over the names and descriptions) but it was the last slot of the evening and she couldn't imagine him spending a prolonged amount of time up on stage. She made her way to the small platform, holding onto the mic stand as she cleared her throat.

"Ok everyone. I want to thank you all so much for coming. It's been another successful open mic night at Two Owls. Hopefully we'll be right back here next month without any delay!" While giving her final remarks she noticed the heavy wooden door to the cafe slowly push open, revealing Jessie along with whatever man she suckered into taking her out for the evening. Michonne held in a groan as she watched Jessie lead her date to a secluded bench near one of the side windows.

"So," she continued unflappable, "let's give a warm welcome to Eugene Porter our final act. As he flexes his skills on...bullet making?"

Eugene hopped on the stage to a smattering of lukewarm applause and all but grabbed the mic from Michonne displacing her from the center of the platform. She hoped absently that no one was planning on uploading this portion of the night onto YouTube. He seemed to only be giving an oral demonstration not a physical one, for now they were safe from big brother or more importantly a pissy town inhabitant. Michonne sighed and walked behind the counter where she'd left the money collected from the suggested donations. They had faired decently that evening, not everyone paid but there we're at least some contributions. Michonne divvied up the money setting an exponentially larger portion out for Jessie, a small size for Tyreese, and an even smaller amount that would go right back into the event's purse.

Jessie must have been watching dutifully, she sauntered over to the counter with her date in tow as soon as the piles were set apart to her liking.

"Looks like you had a good turnout tonight." Her attempts at whispering rivaled the mic'd ramblings of Eugene, as he expounded on the differences between copper and nickel. Jessie's eyes flickered over to the bills smiling eagerly.

Michonne would sooner rather lock herself in a room with a dozen broken owl cuckoo clocks than to hand over the money but this was their agreement. As long as she kept forking over some cash, Jessie would continue to stay open after hours to accommodate the influx of artists.

"Yeah, larger than last time. Considering I wasn't sure if this was going to happen again."

Jessie nodded in agreement, her eyes drifting down to the large stack of bills silently and expectantly.

"And...as agreed upon...here is your cut." Michonne dragged out, reluctantly handing over her tangible evidence of carefully organized planning.

"You're really gonna take that?" Jessie's date spoke up. He cleared his throat fixing Jessie with a somewhat playful incredulous look. Even Michonne had to admit, he pulled it off charmingly.

"She's just a college kid, lookin to do right by the community." He furthered.

"I'm actually-" her common sense and the scathing look the man sent her way sealed her lips faster than expected.

"Rick," Jessie simpered "this was the terms of our agreement. You should see how much its costing me to keep this place open after hours."

"And, what? $50 bucks is gonna cover that? Think of it as your good deed for the week, Well, that and taking an old guy like me out tonight." He offered her a simple short grin, running his tongue over his teeth behind his closed lips as he waited for her reply. Alright, maybe his flirting could use some fine tuning, Michonne thought. He started off strong but was losing steam.

Then Michonne watched nauseated as hell while Jessie turned to her suitor and clasped the lapels of his jacket, turning her pelvis towards him in over exaggerated display of ownership. If this is what 'courting' was like for desperate thirty-something divorcèe single moms she was willing to close up shop right now at the age of twenty-seven.

"I didn't know you were so passionate about the arts. You barely talked about your interests at dinner."

Sometimes Michonne didn't know when to quit. Clearing her throat loudly and shuffling between her feet to break up this tender moment could also be categorized as one of those times.

"Sorry, Michonne. Almost forgot you were here." Sweet. At least she had the wherewithal to disengage herself from her date. "I'm going to head to the office to just check up on some things. Don't worry about closing up I can take it from here." Her palm outstretched, fingers wiggling slightly to indicate her urgency.

"Sure thing. Thanks again, Jessie. And thanks for this!" She held up the small wad of bills before tucking them succinctly in her back pocket. Random Date Guy suggested it, Michonne was planning on rolling with it.

Before Jessie could get out another word, Eugene finished up his monotone soliloquy to a another round of half hearted applause. He got off the stage as the remaining lights switched on brightly illuminating the rest of the space. The patrons rose from their seats and the emerging sounds of casual chit chat filled the cafe.

"You coming Rick?" Jessie beckoned him with a titt of her head in the direction of her office.

"I'm gonna hang back. Give Carl a call before bedtime." Michonne watched Jessie's confidence falter, but only for a second. She regained herself with a watery smile and switched her square hips in a somewhat enticing manner.

Michonne huffed out a humourless laughed and looked out into the crowd, her eyes seeking out Tyresse so she could hand him his cut and give Rosita a call. Her friend was probably out sucking down ultra lite beers at the local dive bar, proving to her latest fisherman that she could hang with the good ole boys.

It took her a little bit but she quickly remembered her ally/Jessie's victim still standing in front of the counter.

"Oh hey! Thanks for that. You should do yourself a favor and head off now. I can wait and tell her you had an emergency."

The man gave her a quizzical look as he widen his stance.

"And why would I do that. Slip out like a coward?"

Michonne shrugged. "I don't know. I'm trying to give you an out." She wasn't sure why Jessie's leftovers was still standing here giving her a hard time.

He stood there, squinting at her with intense blue eyes. Michonne was unfortunately used to getting her fair share of stares in Brunswick. There weren't too many dark skin black women with shoulder length locs walking around town. Naively when she was a sprite eighteen year old freshman she didn't think it would be a problem or bother her, more concerned with diving into her liberal arts education in the blustery quintessential New England town. Coming back at the behest of Deanna, she gave it a little more thought. Obviously not enough thought, because here she was standing before this white man while he was doing his best to squeeze all the moisture out of his eyes by staring her down.

"Seriously? I figured you were one of those smart pretty college girls. Up at that fancy expensive school. But i guess they don't have a course on remembering us common folks."

Michonne took note of his southern drawl, his bow legged gait, and brown suede jacket with the faux fur collar.

"Cerulean?"

"Or better known as 'large coffee, black no room for milk'?'

Michonne winced and took a step back as it all started to fall into place.

"You're Grimes. From Grimes and Son?"

"Well, I'm certainly not my five year old." He scoffed, running a hand through his long curls. "Honestly, what's a guy gotta do around here to make an impression?"

"I'm sorry-"

"And don't offer me a biscotti." The man warned. He too took a step back and placed his hands on his waist, looking down at his damp duck boots.

"Look," he postured, holding out his right hand, "You wanna grab dinner with me sometime?"

Michonne's otherwise impeccable lexicon was conveniently failing her at the moment. She was sure at this point in time she was giving off her best impression of the fish that flopped around on the decks of fishing boats. Mouths gaping rapidly open and shut, shoveling useless gallons of air into their throats as they suffocated to death on their journey's to distribution.

"But…" Michonne tried to mentally issue herself a warning but soldiered on. "I don't know your name?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The response to this story has been really inspiring. Thank you so much for your insightful and funny reviews. I'll try and keep this up.**

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One of the many attentive busboys dropped by to refill Michonne's water glass for the third time that evening in the short span of time they were seated. She smiled politely up at the young man waiting for him to complete his task and then looked over at her date.

Rick gazed at her from above his menu. She had come to the conclusion that he was a pensive fellow. The pair had been sitting at the table for quite some time now, struggling to make small date chit chat. Michonne endeavoring to fill the awkward silences with funny anecdotes or well meaning inquiries. A couple of minutes ago she'd simply resorted to random fits of quiet giggles. Anything to break the silence.

She picked up her glass and gulped quite a bit of water, really just looking for something to do with her hands or her mouth. Instead of studying the laminated menu for the umpteenth time. Then, like clockwork another busboy carrying his bottomless carafe sprinted towards the table.

Michonne slid a slender hand over the rim of the glass preventing his plan from keeping her as hydrated as a succulent cactus.

"No thank you. I'm fine for now." She spoke up. Her eyes danced over to Rick again. He was still fixedly looking at her.

"So...your son's name is Carl?" Michonne had remembered reading somewhere that people always opened up talking about their children. She figured she could blow by with this talking point for at least twenty minutes.

"Yes." He answered succinctly, dropping the menu to rearrange the napkin residing on his lap. "That was his name ten minutes ago. When you last asked."

Michonne thought she might as well get used to her cheeks burning with shame for the rest of the night. There wasn't one detail about this man that she was willing to commit to memory. Why did she even accept his date invitation?

"Right. Sorry." Her fingers began to drum out a rhythmless beat on the table cloth. If she could just get a hold of the server, whoever it was, she could ask them to bring the check. Not that they ordered anything but 4 gallons of water, but she would be willing to leave a twenty in order to dash out of there ASAP.

Rick brought his left hand up to his mouth, dragging his fingers through his greying beard, stopping only to pinch at his pink lips.

"How old are you?" Michonne asked. Whatever the answer was he looked good for his age. When he had stood up to greet her as she arrived at their table her eyes did a quick sweep of his body. His svelte form was appealing in his black turtleneck sweater, his hips lean and trim in gray slacks that molded to his athletic thighs. Tonight he was without his trusty L. boots, instead he opted for nice dress shoes.

Rick sighed and pushed the sleeves of his sweater up, revealing these unexpectedly beautiful golden forearms. His left wrist adorned with a classic silver watch. Behind it she managed to see a small hint of ink, peeking out from the underside of his wrist. Most of the fisherman she knew had tattoos, nothing out of the ordinary here.

"I'm thirty-seven." Michonne's eyebrows jumped a tick as she took in his revelation. Rick brought his arms back down to the table. His watch shifting a bit, giving room for more exposure to the ink imposed on his skin.

"I know it's rude to ask a woman her age but, do you mind tellin' me?"

"Sure. I'm twenty-eight." Rick let out a breath the two of them hadn't realized he had been holding in.

"I was convinced you were a lot younger."

"Then why did you ask me out?" Currently, what she remembered or thought of him, he didn't seem the type to chase after a young skirt. "Particularly while you were on a date with my boss and especially since I wouldn't be able to select you out of a line up of white men with beards?"

Rick chuckled lowly and nodded at her questions. "Fair." He moved to take a sip of his untouched water. Which was a good thing because she was beginning to think the man sitting across from her wasn't entirely human. He barely flinched, blinked maybe four times, and chose to keep a fervent study of her from the instant she sat down.

"You were always smiling at me everytime I came into the shop." He began. "I figured you were sweet on me at first. Then after my fifth visit I realized you really didn't know me from Adam."

"So you're a masochist?"

"No". Rick quickly denied with a firm shake of his head. "More like my ego was bruised. I kept coming around after deliveries hoping to catch you. Say something clever. I thought with you being a college student that was the way to catch your attention. I just couldn't get your schedule right. That's where Jessie came in."

"Ah hah! She shamelessly threw herself at you and in order to preserve your ego you asked her out." Things were picking up. If anything she could spend most of the night bashing the hell out of her boss. Michonne never tired of hearing how thirsty Jessie could be.

"Well, I said yes to her seventh attempt of asking me out. I didn't have any real intentions on courtin' her. She was just familiar, the type of girl I used to want to be with."

"Like an ex wife or girlfriend?"

Rick squinted at Michonne again and rubbed at his temples. Before he could answer their server materialized to take their order.

"Hey Beth." Rick greeted with a familiar nod to the younger girl.

"Oh it's you I'm taking care of? Now I don't feel so bad making you wait." The blonde joked with cheer, tucking her notepad back into the pocket of her apron.

"Hi, I'm Beth." She turned towards Michonne giving her a pleasant smile.

"Hi Beth. I'm Michonne."

"Pleasure to meet you. Why didn't Glenn tell me you were here tonight?" Beth looked towards the back of the restaurant.

"Cause he's got other customers to deal with." Rick shrugged. The way he moved between charming and aloof was astounding to Michonne. She only wished he could find some of that charm or a balance for their date that was currently crumbling before them.

"Guest. You're a guest. I already know what you want. He's a pretty simple guy." Beth whispered conspiratorially to her. "So what can I get for you Michonne?"

"I'll have the house salad with grilled chicken and the dressing on the side." She gathered the salad would be pretty meager and she could fork down the whole thing in fifteen minutes and be back on her couch in twenty eating leftover wings with beer watching reruns of the Real Housewives of Atlanta.

"You got it. Can I get you anything else to drink." She jutted her chin towards their water glasses.

"I'll have a glass of your house red." Michonne could also chug a glass of wine in seven minutes. A skill she picked up her sophomore year that her peers teased her endlessly about. If only they could see her now, putting that "useless" party trick to good use. Besides, she didn't drive there anyway and it wouldn't hurt to get a head start on her buzz under Rick's dime.

"Nothing for me, Beth." He handed Beth both menus and returned his focus on Michonne.

"I guess that's how you keep...looking the way you do."

"Excuse me?" The busboy returned with the same gusto and speed he employed with his watering can and placed Michonne's glass to the side of her. No decanter, no small pour, none of the pomp and circumstance that usually comes with serving wine. It didn't bother her too much though, she was maybe forty-five minutes away from leaving this date to fester in the deep recesses of her mind. Filed away in her 'What Were You Thinking, Michonne?' folder.

"You not much of an eater?" Michonne was halfway between her second gulp contemplating what lie she was going to feed him about her 'appetite'. She proceeded to finish said gulp (she was rusty anyway and there was no defeat in taking a brief break to regroup) and placed the wine glass down. Predicting she only had two and a half more gulps until she conquered the horrible house blend.

"I love food. But I've always been dubious of this place." She inspected the tacky decor of dragons, embossed chili peppers, and chef hats adorning the walls. "Fusion's always give me pause but Asian-Italian really takes the cake." Michonne smacked her lips together, the wine most have gone to her head a little too quickly. Cooler heads would suggest not insulting your date's friend's establishment.

"I see." He rasped. Taking in the way she gobbled her wine Rick gritted his teeth and peered towards the exit. "You're trying to get out of here as fast as possible."

"Wha…?" She tried but what was the use? Quickly folding she bet if they caught Beth in time they'd be able to cancel their orders. He seemed dense enough but not willfully ignorant. "Do you think this is going well?"

"I thought it was going alright." He answered truthfully. Or to his truth.

Michonne was quite frankly at a lost with this southern drawled New England transport. He appeared out of place in Maine, probably better suited on a farm somewhere. Lassoing an unbroken mare or kicking up dust in some beat up cowboy boots. She picked up the rest of her wine and finished it in just two gulps.

"That bad, huh?" He laughed good naturedly. Rick reached for his wallet and pulled out a few bills. "Come on. I'll take you home." He dropped them on the table while collecting his jacket. Michonne watched him stride confidently towards the exit. Her legs barely carried her as she hurried after him.

After Michonne erroneously pointed out that Rick reserved a table at Glenn's restaurant for some sort of suppliers discount they sat in painful silence for the duration of the ride back to her apartment. Michonne was indifferent for the most part. Did she think going out with her boss' date was a good idea? No. Was it worth the cringe worthy levels of first date horror stories? No, again. In reality she was only taking solace in the knowledge that she could pull a man from Jessie, with minimal to no effort.

They reached Michonne's place, as she turned to unbuckle her seat belt and offer up a tepid 'thank you' and 'goodbye' Rick got out to move to her side of his truck. He opened the door hastilty and extend his hand. Michonne accepted and semi gracefully climbed down the best she could in her tight black dress and pumps. He continued to hold onto her hand until they made it to the front door of the modest two family house. Her unit was located on the first floor off to the side of the building. Rick quickly released her when they arrived at the front door.

"Thanks for walking me to my door." Michonne recited. She dug through her purse for her keys, locating them easily.

"You're welcome." Rick affirmed, in that deep accent she was growing accustomed to. She hazily wondered if he was ever going to make it back into the cafe after this painful first date. A sane person would opt not to, after botching dates with both owner and employee.

Yet here they were. Staring at each other as Michonne held out her keys.

"Do you want to come in?" Evidently, Michonne was determined to prolong this into the last centric circle of hell chronicled in Dante's Inferno.

"You sure?" He arched an eyebrow taking her request in.

"Yes. I have some light beers you can have. It's as bland as water and maybe has the same alcohol content as O'Douls but it does the trick." Michonne fixed her keys through the lock and opened her door. Not bothering to look back, but all together good with his decisions to come in or head out.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me on this. Here's a shorter chapter but things are (albeit slowly) moving forward a bit with this seemingly mismatched pair. Your reviews and insights are so greatly appreciated.**

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Michonne let out a hearty laugh at the attics of the women on her television screen. She leaned forward and grabbed a napkin, clearing off the remains of buffalo sauce on the pads of her fingers. Her Michelob Ultra Lite beer was forgotten as she settled back into her the couch and brought her blanket up higher on her body. The ladies were currently arguing about some nonsensical rumor at the dinner table, talking over one another in a flash of hair and coffin shaped fingernails. It must be nice when your biggest concern is over whose mansion was getting built faster than the others.

Rick cleared his throat and Michonne looked over at her guest, sitting with a surly expression on his increasingly handsome face. Their eyes met and she took in his posture, legs spread wide with his palms flat on his knees in a semi reclining position. Clearly, he looked like he was having the time of his life.

After she walked into her apartment Rick had followed, somewhat reluctantly. Standing by the front door for a few minutes until she told him to put up his coat and take a seat. He still needed some more coaxing it seemed when he chose to sit on the other end of the furniture. Slowly he made his way over to Michonne and even shared a few wings with her and one beer.

This whole evening was one for the books. Michonne wasn't exactly sure of what her intentions were with Rick aside from possibly becoming amicable acquaintances. She had come to recognize that he was an attractive man. Those pink lips that were housed in a fluffy blanket of assertive greys and withering browns, the crinkle of skin between his lightly colored sparse eyebrows, those eyes that were fighting to sear themselves in her memory. Or it could have been chugging wine on a nearly empty stomach but Rick was starting to come around to her.

"Is this what you do?" He broke their stares and silence, gesturing towards the tv. "Eat junk food, drink bad beer, and watch bad television?"

"Hey, the invitation wasn't mandatory. Besides, I'm an intellectual most hours of the day. This is a way to…"

"Shut your brain off?" He finished.

"Exactly." She nudged his shoulder with her fist in agreement. He was starting to come along and it only took him one and a half episodes of the housewives entertaining but shrill antics. There was hope for him yet.

"What do you usually do?" She implored between a full sip of her tepid beer.

"I'm usually up pretty early during the warmer months. That's when the fish are more active. Other than making a living, I'll talk with my son Carl, I try to catch up with Glenn now and then. I like to keep to myself."

"Or date clingy owl enthusiasts."

Rick snickered at her remark, dragging a hand over his face and shaking his head.

"Sure. Better than having to remind the girl who takes your coffee order every morning that you exist."

"Hey! There are a lot of you that come in and out everyday. It's hard to keep track."

"We all look alike, huh?" He raised an eyebrow at her as his lips curled into a small grin.

"I know where you're going with that and I mean all fisherman." She paused and brought her bottle up to her lips for another swig and continued. "But yes, you white boys all do look alike."

Rick quickly grabbed the bottle neck, his fingers grazing Michonne's as he brought it down from it's destination to her mouth. He set the drink on the table and moved in closer, wrapping a large arm along the back of the couch. Their eyes met as they sat next to one another. Michonne's mine grew fuzzy as she tried to anticipate his next move. She was truly left speechless when Rick closed the gap between them with one of the softest pecks she'd ever received. He was so quick and gentle she barely felt the miry whiskers above his lips and spread out over his chin brush her face. Rick pulled back just far enough to look questioningly into her eyes, gauging how he faired in his brief seductive lip lock. A full minute seemed to pass until Michonne broke the standoff with a charming snort giggle. She brought both hands to her mouth covering up the offending sound, however it only proved to strengthen her outburst and elicit an eye roll from her companion.

Would this night ever end? She thought as she tried to gain her composure, rubbing her hands down her thighs over the stiff black material of her dress.

"I'm sorry. " She offered, braving a glance at a disheveled Rick. His cheeks were tinged pink with what she could only guess to be embarrassment. "I do have to ask though. What do you think is going on here?" She used a hand to gesture between the two of them.

"Michonne," he began on a frustrated tone, punctuated with his fingers pinching the space between his eyes. "You invited me in...for a night cap."

"A 'night cap'? I extended an invitation to watch tv with me, old man. I thought maybe we could salvage the evening and end it with friendship."

"I don't know if I want'a be your friend, if you're gonna be callin' me old." He warned, his arm that had been just barely touching her shoulders left it's perch to return to his side.

"I was getting a friend vibe from this whole interaction." Michonne lifted her arms to gather her locs into a high pony on top of her head. Her movements drew Rick's attention to the soft round cleavage peeking out from her neckline. She watched his gaze drift to her chest and he licked his lips while her perky tits kept his regard.

Rick's right hand boldy landed on her hip, causing her to pause her ministrations waiting to see how this was going to unfold. She felt his hand move slowly up her side until his thumb swiped lazily against the springy flesh of her breast. Next he took another brave step and plucked at the pebbled nipple making its presence known through the upper bodice of her dress. Goosebumps pimpled Michonne's forearms, she inhaled a shaky breath stunned at the effect Rick was having on her body.

"Does that feel like friendship to you?" He articulated. His face was now a few inches from her's. She could feel his breath, it's cozy heat laced with the light fragrance of beer intermingling with her own. Michonne hiccupped slightly as his thumb cradled her hardened tip, pilfering another tug. She shifted in her seat, her lower half tingling with anticipation of his next step.

Well this was...surprising.


End file.
